


Shattered

by ch1ps0h0y



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Delusions, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it is easier to live a lie than to come back to reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

He was meditating in his room when the news he had been waiting for finally filtered down from the higher-ups to his ears.

_Mukuro Rokudou has betrayed the Vongola. He must be captured, dead or alive._

In one fluid movement, Kyouya Hibari rose from his position on the floor and paced towards the table where his laptop sat humming quietly. The screen flickered to life at a gentle nudge of the mouse and a tinny voice informed him of new mail. A single click brought up the stark black and white box - a private message from the Vongola Decimo himself.

He read the missive then straightened and folded hands into the wide black sleeves of his yukata contemplatively.

He would take this mission, if only because he and the illusionist had unresolved matters to settle.

"Tetsu." His second-in-command came to attention by his side. "You are in charge during my absence." It was an order he had given countless times before so the other man knew his duty. With a quick bow Tetsuya Kusakabe swept out of the tatami room to inform the rest of the men of their chairman's departure.

Hibari himself disappeared into a smaller room and emerged minutes later with a crisp black suit and purple shirt buttoned and neatly tucked underneath. His favoured weapons, his tonfas, were stowed somewhere on his person, as were his box weapons. The Vongola ring sat comfortably around a finger on his hand, the cloud etched into the silver band reflecting the soft light. Hibari paused to stare at a second, more ornate ring in the palm of his hand, set with a deep-blue stone. Light cast on its dark surface showed the symbol which adorned Mist-type rings to be etched into it.

The ring bore its owner's scrutiny for a few seconds longer before being slid on to the fourth finger of the left hand.

 

A small yellow bird flew out to greet him as he was about to step into his nondescript but nonetheless expensive-looking car. It perched on his shoulder and chirped, prompting Hibari to rub a finger gently on its head.

"Find him for me?" he whispered to it. The bird cocked its head then chirped again before flapping away. He watched it go with the faintest of smiles before stepping into his waiting vehicle.

The driver dropped him off at the airport with a slight nod before disappearing into the swarm of transport. Hibari watched it go until the glossy ebony roof was lost amongst the others then turned and braced himself to wade through the bustling crowd beyond the glass doors.

 

It was hard to keep track of a man who could vanish and reappear without warning like the very mist he personified. Hibari had since learned that only patience could combat the very irritation that Mukuro and his kind liked to instil.

But Hibari was not the patient type.

He questioned those who had claimed to see the illusionist last. They offered nothing besides a description that could have only been of him. Scouring the town itself provided no further leads; Hibari expected nothing less from the one who could lead the guards of Vindice on a merry dance.

Yet there was some niggling feeling which told him to wait rather than move on, a sense that he should stay though his trip had proven to be unfruitful.

Hibari had also learned to trust his instincts in regards to dealing with illusionists.

So he booked himself into a _ryokan_ and settled in, telling himself that if nothing had shown by the end of a week, he would look elsewhere.

 

As the night closed in and scudding clouds parted to reveal a fat, glowing orb which hung in the inky sky, the pale light thrown from the moon illuminated a figure crouched on the top of a low brick wall. The figure retreated further into the shadow of an overhanging tree, away from the light, with only the softest scuffling of shoes to give away his presence.

He waited until all of humankind had settled to sleep before moving from where he was, slipping off of the bricks and landing cat-like on the grass that carpeted the ground on one side. His dark coat was even darker still as he stole through shadows with it billowing silently behind him. The warm glow of a certain establishment drew him to slink dangerously close to its luminance.

Why did he take such a risk? The answer would present itself soon enough. With ease, he began to scale the wall, carefully avoiding windows and placing his hands and feet carefully to ensure he did not slip. Sometime later, he slithered over the railing of a balcony that jutted out from an unlit room. He rose to his full height, now fully exposed to the moonlight which threw his features into shadow and eerily outlined his form. Like smoke, he slipped inside with only the muffled scraping of wood to announce him.

There was only one occupant other than himself. They lay sleeping peacefully, tucked into a futon with a thick blanket drawn up to the chin. The sleeper stirred slightly but it was only the usual disturbances that dreams brought on. The intruder respectfully removed his shoes before padding over to kneel beside the sleeper.

He had watched this place for three days, waiting for any danger or trap to present itself. Having observed none, he had undertaken this intrusion into the sleeper's bedchamber, assured in the fact that they had come alone and unprotected.

Unable to stop himself, he stretched a hand out to caress the ebony hair and pale skin. The sleeper mumbled and shifted but did not wake.

So far so good. The intruder dared to lean over and brush his lips across their forehead - a tender kiss he knew would not be remembered by the other come morning, which made his heart thud with a peculiar sadness.

The sleeper murmured something into the cold night air which had swept in along with the intruder's entrance. The latter bent to listen, desperate to catch even the smallest word.

" _Modottekure..._ " they whispered. " _Modottekure..._ "

'Come back', they had said. 'Come back...'

"I cannot return just yet," he murmured in response. He lifted up his hand up to the light where a band of silver glimmered around one of his fingers.

"No, not yet, my beloved," he repeated sadly.

He slid the plain band off and lay it gently where the sleeper would immediately see it upon waking. With a final kiss, he rose and retrieved his boots, pausing by the _shoji_ leading out to the balcony to cast one last glance back.

" _Sayounara_ , Kyouya."

Then he was gone.

 

Hibari awoke as soon as the first strains of birdsong filtered through into his room. The first rays of sunlight had yet to crest over rooftops, but he ignored a chance to witness its rising for the small object which sat a little ways from him, directly in his line of sight.

He reached out for the object, knowing what it was but refusing to believe it was real until he held it in his hand, until his fingers had run over every millimetre of the untarnished metal.

"Mukuro." It was the first time he had uttered the illusionist's name since he had begun his mission, and the name was accompanied by an ache in his chest.

He had been here last night; he had visited while Hibari had slept. Why had he not woken him?

No, Hibari thought, answering his own question as a strange heat gathered behind his eyes, he knew why Mukuro had not woken him.

He only knew himself to be crying when the silver ring blurred before his eyes. The first tear slid down his cheek without his realising, closely followed by the second which he dashed away, the slim band clutched in his fist.

Why did Mukuro have to leave without saying goodbye? Why? _Why?_

Sobs choked him and he took a shuddering breath. He knew the answers to all his own questions, but that did not stop him asking: why?

Not for the first time, Hibari wished he shared a connection with Mukuro as Chrome did. At least it would reassure him of the illusionist's existence. Or in the worst case...inform him of his death.

Mukuro would no longer be in this place. The ring had been a token - a reassurance, the only kind that Mukuro could leave. He had to know that Hibari would pursue him, no matter how far, or how long it took to track him down. The ring spoke more than words ever could.

_Leave all ties behind - let us settle this as opponents. As hunter and prey._

Emotions had no place in a hunter. Emotions made one weak. Made one hesitate.

A carnivore could not have feelings for a herbivore whose neck it would shortly snap.

Hibari bowed his head, forcing himself to accept the fact that from now on he and Mukuro were no longer bound by their vows of love and loyalty. They would fight, yes, but it would no longer be those friendly spars where they tested each other's strength.

Mukuro would be fighting to kill. And so Hibari must too.

Hibari slid the ring down the same finger where his own ring rested and spared it no further thought as he rose to the cold amber of dawn.

If he was to catch someone as slippery as Mukuro, he could not afford to waste any time.

 

The rapport of gunfire, bullets ricocheting off the walls, and the clink of empty shells - to Mukuro it was a sound that never failed to excite his blood, to bring on the craze which more often than not resulted in his opponents dead in horrific fashion and he himself unscathed.

He took out the gunmen one by one, turning some against their comrades, dispatching the rest with skilful stabs and sweeps of his trident. In mere seconds the place was bathed in dark blood, in the middle of which he stood breathing in the distinct metallic scent, heedless of that which coated his weapon and the soles of his expensive leather boots.

This was what he was: a killer. A killer who revelled in the death which he brought. He would never be anything else. The world would keep turning, the Samsara would keep dealing him hands of misfortune, and he would keep on killing.

The sound of something flat slapping against the surface of the pool of blood drew him out of his euphoria. He smiled and turned to greet the newcomer, not caring that he might be projecting the appearance of a crazed man. No innocent bystander would simply wander into this slaughter ground after all.

"Ciao, Kyouya. We finally meet."

He greeted the other as if they were adversaries who had only just laid eyes on each other. In a sense, that was exactly what they were: he had led the other Guardian on a chase which almost spanned the globe, always vanishing at a crucial moment, always returning to leave a clue when the trail had seemed to go cold.

And now, at long last, the time for running was over.

"Do you know why I betrayed the Vongola, Kyouya? Or do you blindly follow Tsunayoshi's orders like a tame dog?" he asked idly, trailing blood-smeared fingers up the length of his trident, admiring the play of light on the stained metal.

There was no answer. Mukuro did not expect one. With a soft laugh, he turned to face his adversary fully, feet shifting into a ready stance though outwardly he appeared relaxed.

"Are you angry? Do you hate me? Do you want to _kill_ me?" As he spoke, their surroundings darkened, shadows pulled themselves with otherworldly groans, and the newly-dead gunmen appeared to rise with blood seeping from their wounds. Their outstretched fingers clamoured for Hibari, but the latter remained unfazed by the display, bearing past them to leap straight for the perpetrator, a flash of silver the only warning Mukuro had before tonfas slammed and quivered against his own weapon.

Mukuro smirked. "Your sense has improved markedly." And so began their last battle.

Movements were a blur. No words were said, save for the voice of screeching metal as the two clashed. Both parried and attacked, and in turn had their attacks blocked in a complicated dance which only they were capable of understanding and executing flawlessly. Despite his earlier exertion, Mukuro showed no sign of tiring, and neither did Hibari. This battle would not be decided on endurance, but who was the first to slip and make an error.

It seemed, however, that neither would allow that to occur. Their fight took them across the entire space, back and forth, neither of them letting up.

At some point, Mukuro began to laugh.

It was not a laugh designed to irritate or provoke: it was pure and free - the result of exhilaration. Truly, Mukuro had forgotten what it was like to have an opponent worth battling. His opponent's face was as ever set in stone and did not react to the sudden display of gaiety. Hibari simply and methodically kept up the attack, defending where necessary, but otherwise showing no sign that he felt similarly or differently to Mukuro.

The price of mirth was weakness, and so it was Mukuro found that his arms, made limp from his laughter, gave way to one of Hibari's forceful thrusts and he was forced to the ground with only the staff of his trident keeping the other's blunt instruments of death from meeting his face.

One quick twist took care of that too, sending the trident clattering away where it lay amongst the stagnating blood. Cold steel pressed against Mukuro's throat, threatening to choke him at the slightest movement. It was a position that he had been familiar with, once upon a time.

"Kill me," he whispered. The only words he had spoken since they had begun.

Hibari said nothing. Sweat trickled dangerously close past one eye and he was panting from their exertion. Nevertheless, the tonfa did press further and Mukuro's breath hitched, body instinctively prepared to struggle should he be suffocated.

"Before...before I do," Hibari began haltingly. He paused to clear his throat then continued more quietly: "Before I do, tell me why you betrayed the Vongola." _Why you betrayed me_.

A little smile made Mukuro's lips quirk upwards. "I have no obligation to answer you." _I gave up that tie long ago_.

"Tell me why, you bastard, or I'll beat the answer out of you myself!" Anger, beautiful anger, distorted Hibari's normally graceful features. Ah, how Mukuro had missed it.

"My reasons are my own." No torture could persuade him to open up. He had experienced them all in his long life.

Hibari snarled and raised a tonfa. Mukuro closed his eyes, expecting it to shortly make contact with the bones of his face. Instead he heard a clang. Then a pair of lips was crushed against his.

He could taste the salty tears which streamed down the other's face as they kissed. Mukuro felt all of his former partner's desperation, confusion, anger, frustration - those bottled up feelings which had been locked away in order to fuel hate. Hibari did not care to be gentle; he only knew rough. And that was fine - because Hibari had no patience for deceit, for soft touches which belied kindness or caresses that gave the illusion of desire. He had no patience for lies.

Mukuro drew the other man closer, desperate to make the most of their time together before they were inexplicably torn apart, separated by a law which knew nothing of mercy. His own tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he clutched the other to him, praying for just a little more time.

_Just one second more...please..._

Icy chains wrapped securely about his wrists, jerking his hands away, pulling him from the embrace. He fought against them but a familiar collar snapped around his neck. More chains encircled his feet and brought him to his knees, sprawled at the feet of the imposing, faceless men which were known only as Vindice, the Avengers.

" _Mukuro_!" he heard Hibari yell.

Despite his chains, he attempted to lurch towards him, but was pulled back as the men began to walk away with him in tow. Desperately, he stretched out a hand, seeking that last moment of human warmth.

"Forget me. Forget everything." He had never begged anything of another human being, but this time he was in earnest. He would not escape this time. There was no escape.

His fingers slipped away before Hibari's hands could close on them and he heard the other cry out in frustration before he and the guards vanished in a swirl of freezing mist.

 

Hibari stared at the spot where they had vanished, arm still outstretched, hot liquid coursing down his cheeks. There was blood on his clothes but he paid it no mind. He paid no heed to anything at all, except the anguish on his lover's face as he had been taken away, the pain at having been denied that final touch...

He suddenly felt the need to vent his frustration on the nearest wall.

He was certain he heard bone crack as he threw his fist against a concrete pillar, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Mukuro was gone.

 _'Forget me. Forget everything_.' But how could he forget? How could anyone forget years spent in a semblance of harmony? Of love freely shared, reciprocated? Of time _spent_.

How can one erase the past?

Mukuro's trident lay where it had fallen. In a daze, Hibari walked over to it and bent to heft it in his hands, disregarding his own weapons.

_When the head breaks, so do I._

When it broke...

Hibari did not want to think of the implications of that.

He took it with him, when the clean-up crew came. He refused to relinquish it despite their urgings. They let him be, and instead took up his tonfas since he would not let go of it to pick up even those.

Later - much later, back in Namimori - Tsuna met with him in private. Hibari still clutched the trident and stared unseeing at some point just above the Decimo's shoulder at the wall behind.

"Hibari...? Are you all right?" the younger man coaxed.

The older man's eyes seemed to focus then. They flicked towards Tsuna's face and away. A murmured, "I'm fine," was the most that could be extracted from him. Eventually the don gave up and let Hibari return to his quarters - quarters which Hibari had not set foot in for almost two years.

Kusakabe bowed him in, and for a moment he stood confused at the entrance. Why did it look so familiar? So nostalgic?

A little yellow bird fluttered down to perch on his shoulder, twittering. He absently petted it as he moved to stand in the centre of the room, trying to recall...something.

"Kyo?"

The tentative voice interrupted his thoughts. With a nod, he bid the man leave and he did, bowing once more and sliding the door shut, leaving Hibari in serene silence.

_When the head breaks..._

Hibari let his eyes run up the dark metal to where the three points protruded, sharp and deadly. So long as the head remained intact, so did Mukuro. And so long as Mukuro was alive, there was hope of meeting him again.

He had to believe Mukuro would be alive. He _had to_.

 

***

Hibari slept fitfully, as he had for the past few months ever since he had last seen Mukuro vanishing along with the guards of Vindice. The precious trident lay propped against the wall, where he could easily see it and reassure himself of Mukuro's continued existence.

He buried his face into his pillow. What he would not give to hear that voice call his name again, to be folded into an embrace and inhale that unique scent. What he would not give to feel those lips on his again, and those feather-light caresses...

"Kyouya..."

Hibari froze. No, surely not. Mukuro was imprisoned, he could not escape...!

"Kyouya..." This time a hand rested upon his shoulder - a gesture he was all too familiar with.

"Mukuro...?" he whispered. He did not dare turn as he heard the memorable 'kufufu' and the creak of leather as the other knelt behind him.

"Who else?" Lips brushed his cheek, causing him to catch his breath. He let the hand turn him over and gazed in shock at the figure that loomed over him. That smile, those eyes, that long blue hair which always fell over his shoulder...

It could not be him. And yet it had to be. With a chuckle, Mukuro bent down to press his lips to the corners of his eyes where tears ran free.

"Why are you crying, Kyouya? Are you not happy to see me?" the illusionist whispered, a smile playing on his face.

It was with difficulty that Hibari swallowed. "I am," he said hoarsely. "But...you can't be here."

"Oh? Who says that I cannot be?" Mukuro settled himself more comfortably beside Hibari, stretching out on the tatami so they were eye to eye.

"The Vi--" Lips silenced him.

"Do not speak of them," Mukuro murmured. "Do not think of them."

Hibari's hands roamed hesitantly over the contours of Mukuro's face, as if to assure himself of the other's existence. "Why are you here?"

The illusionist's own gloved hands took Hibari's and kissed their palms with a sigh. "You have to forget me, Kyouya. To forget everything."

Hibari shook his head. "I can't," he whispered, distraught.

"You must." Arms drew him up into a firm embrace which for once Hibari did not object to. If anything he pressed closer, having yearned for and been denied the other's hold for so long.

"You must let go of me, Kyouya. Move on."

He breathed in the other man's scent. So familiar, so foreign, it brought more tears to his eyes. "I _can't_ ," he repeated. A sob choked further words. _All my anger, and all that I feel for you - where will it go if you're no longer here?_

That warm body pulled away and his hands scrabbled to keep it close.

"Don't leave me again, please..."

Mukuro only shook his head and rose, padding softly to where his weapon lay propped against the wall. "You have been taking good care of this for me. But it is time I took it back." With a sad smile he cradled the trident in his hands, running gloved fingers up and down its polished length. The rigid metal dug into Hibari's shoulder as he came to enfold his lover in his arms one final time.

"It is time to say farewell," he murmured. He leaned in close and warm breath whispered against Hibari's ear.

" _Sayounara, Kyouya._ "

Hibari swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. " _Sayounara, Mukuro..._ "

It was all he could do not to make a sound as hot tears pooled in his vision and a horrible ache born of emptiness made his chest shake. His arms slipped from around a non-existent waist and his head bent against a shoulder that was no longer there. None of that mattered to him: not the disappearance of warmth from a body which had not been real, not the strangled cry which burst forth in the silence which he did not realise came from him, not even that Mukuro's scent somehow lingered though he had vanished into the ether after that painful, long-awaited goodbye.

He had given himself up completely to be with Mukuro. He had shared what normally would have been kept hidden. He had opened his heart, his mind, even his body - Mukuro had been as much a part of him as he had been a part of Mukuro.

But now he was gone, and only shattered pieces remained: fragments of a weapon that had long since rusted and fallen to bits, fragments of a dream that could not be. The illusion of reality was finally broken.

And there was no-one to pick up and put back together what had been left behind.


End file.
